


Keep Watch

by battle_cat



Series: Together [57]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Comfort Sex, F/M, Massage, Outdoor Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Wall Sex, Wasteland coping mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-08-28 23:55:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8467909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/battle_cat/pseuds/battle_cat
Summary: “You’re.” She swallows. “Getting very distracting. Supposed to be—ohh—keeping watch.”“Then keep watch.”





	1. Chapter 1

It’s one of those days when she’s twitchy and on edge for no reason. She can never determine the mystery balance of factors that allows her to get a sound night’s rest. Max helps, and sex helps, and keeping busy helps, but yesterday she had had all three and still woken up screaming twice. She’s tired and grumpy and the restless shifting winds are the kind that make her arm ache.

When she snarls at a trainee blackthumb pup for dropping a wrench too loud, she puts herself on sentry duty for the rest of the afternoon.

 

It’s blazing hot in the sniper’s post, but at least it’s silent. The weight of the rifle in her hands is comforting despite the dull ache in her stump and elbow and the phantom twinge below it, the shiver of a muscle no longer there.

The narrow perch is meant for lying down or kneeling, a person-sized ledge ringed by a low wall of scrap rock for cover, but she paces in the tiny space. She picked a post on the windward side of the War Tower, facing away from the Citadel’s other pillars. From this angle there is nothing but desert, red sand and a distant scrub of hills. This is usually the quietest watch of the day, when everything in the Wasteland slinks away to doze under whatever shade it can find.

She watches empty desert through the scope, itching for something to shoot. Jogs in place a little on the narrow outcropping. Tries to roll the tension out of her shoulders and fails.

The scuff of a boot against the tunnel floor behind her makes her jump, even though it was intended to have the opposite effect. Max can move in total silence when he wants to, but they have a shared habit of making enough noise that the other one doesn’t startle. Most of the time.

“Sorry,” he mutters as he steps out on the ledge behind her shoulder. There’s barely room for both of them, but he gives her as much space as the chunk of rock will allow.

She shakes her head. “Bad day.”

He makes an affirmative hum. From anyone else it would sound judgmental, but from him it’s just confirmation of a shared observation.

“Want me to go?” He nods his head toward the tunnel.

“No.” His presence doesn’t grate; there’s no artifice to put on. “Stay.”

She hears the shift of leather as he leans back against the rock at the entrance to the tunnel, the pop of a joint as he flexes his knee. She doesn’t tempt the Wasteland by putting down her rifle, but she slides the Vuvalini-woven strap over her shoulder and points the barrel toward the ground.

They stand for a while in companionable silence, staring out at the Wasteland.

“Arm hurting?” he asks after some time.

“A bit.” She hasn’t been aware of holding herself any differently, but he must have noticed something.

“Can feel it in my knee, too. Wind changin’.”

“Yeah.” And as if he’s given her permission, she rolls her shoulders and grimaces.

“I could…” Once he stands up it’s only half a pace for him to be right behind her. A gentle hand lands between her shoulderblades. She nods.

“Where does it hurt?” he asks.

“Where it’s not there anymore,” she says, because that’s the only way to explain it, but he hums as if that makes perfect sense.

He can’t do much with her prosthetic in place, but his hands spread broad and warm across her upper back, stroking, feeling along the planes of muscles the way she’s seen him run his fingers along a fuel line, searching by touch for the minuscule crack that’s been leaking guzz.

He moves slowly when he slides an arm around her ribs, over the belts that hold the prosthetic in place. The thumb of his other hand finds a spot under her shoulderblade and presses in hard, a sudden deep release of tension she can feel up and down her arm. It’s so good it makes her shiver. A tiny moan escapes from the back of her throat.

“There?”

“Mm-hmm.” 

He moves his thumb just slightly and presses into a different spot. She sighs.

With the rifle strap keeping the weight of the gun on her right shoulder she doesn’t need to do more than hold the barrel steady with her metal hand. She lets her left shoulder drop, relaxing as much as she can under the weight of the prosthetic. She’s still watching the horizon, but she lets herself lean back against Max’s chest while his fingers knead into her back.

“You’re very good at this,” she slurs when he’s moved on to rubbing hard, slow circles into the muscle where her shoulder meets her neck.

“Would be easier with your arm off,” he mumbles against her neck. His chin is tucked against the shoulder he’s not working over with his hands, his breath warm and close below her ear. “Maybe your shirt too for good measure.”

She bites her lip to hide a twitch of a smile, but she’s pretty sure he saw it anyway. “That would be ideal,” she muses. “For relaxation.”

“Mm. Other ways to relax.” She feels the softest press of his lips against her neck.

He’s still kneading her shoulder, but now his mouth wanders too, gentle kisses and the slightest bit of tongue over the sensitive skin of her throat, and it takes no time at all for heat that has nothing to do with the sun to gather low in her belly. When his mouth wanders up to nibble softly on her earlobe her eyes drift closed, until she remembers she’s supposed to be watching the horizon.

“You’re.” She swallows. “Getting very distracting. Supposed to be—ohh—” She breaks off as his fingers press into a delicious spot under her left collarbone. “—keeping watch.”

“Then keep watch.” His left hand strays to her hip.

She keeps her gaze fixed on the horizon. But she takes her finger off the rifle’s trigger-guard.

His hand drifts under the metal struts of her arm, up to the waistband of her pants, and when she doesn’t do anything to dissuade him he unbuckles her belt. His fingers slide over flushed skin and wiry hair, reaching down to cup her pussy. And then they don’t move.

His mouth is still pressing idle kisses to her neck, open and wet now but still soft enough not to leave a mark. The hand around her ribcage moves just slightly, sliding up to knead at her breast. The desert is very red spread out before her, shimmering with mirages. She stares at it until she feels dizzy.

When his fingers move to slide between her labia she moans, the desert sliding out of focus for a moment as he finds wetness and smears it over her clit. When he begins to stroke it’s deliberate and slow, soft enough that her hips make tiny involuntary twitches against him, her body seeking more.

The afternoon heat is all around her and on top of her and inside her, sweat slicking between her breasts and behind her knees, her flesh hand clenched tight on the rifle stock. She can feel the orgasm building slowly inside her and she rocks into his touch, an unspoken demand for more pressure.

When he finally rubs fast and hard she has to bite back a whimper, and her eyes flutter closed for just a moment as the heavy wave of pleasure rolls over her, blue sky and red sand going momentarily hazy.

She is gasping for breath, and the late afternoon sun is impossibly bright, and Max’s arm is a secure tether around her waist. Her hand is slick with sweat on the rifle stock. She can hear him licking his fingers clean behind her.

He laces and buckles her pants back up while she catches her breath. She can feel him hard through his leathers against her ass, but he doesn’t move to do anything about it. If there’s any pain in her arm right now, she can’t feel it under a wave of pleasant warmth and calm.

After a moment she can stand steady enough on her own and she wipes the worst of the sweat away with her scarf. His arms are still around her, but loosely. He kisses the back of her neck and she lets herself lean back into him for a moment, not because she has to, but because it’s nice.

“Watch shift ends at sunset,” she says. “Meet in my room? I could work on your leg.”

“Mm.”

“You’d have to take your pants off. For maximum relaxation.”

“Agreed.” He gives her one more kiss, a gentle brush of lips on her shoulder, before stepping back into the tunnel and leaving her alone on the ledge.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter inspired by [YoukaiYume's smutty art](http://youkaiyume.tumblr.com/post/155133516403/warning-nsfw-this-was-a-smut-prompt-for).

When the sun touches the horizon her replacement on watch comes to relieve her. She finds Max in the garage. When he sees her across the room he wipes his hands and follows her out without a word. The look in his eyes is hungry, and a fresh wave of want sweeps through her as they climb the winding passageways up to her room.

The air in her room is heavy with afternoon heat. He sheds his jacket while she bolts the door and hangs up her rifle and then he has her against the wall, his mouth hot and open against hers. His whole body presses against her and she can feel how hard he is through his leathers. She wonders if he stroked himself off after their rendezvous on the sniper’s perch, or if he made himself wait for her. Both ideas fill her with heat.

They’re grinding together, everything sweaty and urgent and silent save for the rough breath escaping between kisses. She lets his hands move where they want, kneading her ass, loosening the straps of her prosthetic just enough to slide it off her shoulder, letting the metal dangle against her thigh. He presses his thumb into a spot of tension under the cap of her shoulder and she moans.

“Supposed to— _mm_ —be your turn,” she gasps as his fingers work.

“We’ll get there.” She whimpers as he finds another knot and presses on it. She can feel him smile where his face is tucked against her neck. “Like the sounds you make.”

“Yeah?” She works a hand down between them, a stroke and a squeeze against the bulge in his pants that makes him grunt against her shoulder.

“Want you here.” His hands are already unfastening her belt, tugging her leathers down over sweaty thighs, knees, calves, working off a boot to leave her pants trailing around her right ankle. On his way back up he pauses to suck a teasing kiss on the inside of her thigh. She bucks her hips against him but he’s already pulling away, rucking up his shirt and shoving his pants down enough to get his cock out. Then he has a hand under her knee and her leg over his hip and he’s sliding into her with a delicious hot stretch.

For a moment he is perfectly still, his forehead resting against hers, both of them breathing hard at the feeling of him deep inside her. When he starts to move it’s slow, a long slide with a rock of his hips at the end that makes her gasp. She can tell he’s holding back, not going as hard and as fast as he wants, making it last, and every thrust is going straight to the core of her. She squeezes her eyes shut and gives in to all the little moans and whimpers that want to come out of her, her hand fisted in his shirt and her legs shaking. She can feel his lips on her cheek, her forehead, a gentle hand at the end of her shortened arm, and then she’s coming and he’s speeding up in a dizzying feedback loop of heat and wet and pleasure.

She hangs on to him for a long moment after his cock slides out of her, a fistful of his shirt still clamped in her flesh hand. Her knees feel watery and she’s grateful for his strong arms around her.

After some amount of time she’s able to unclench her hand from his shirt and reach up to stroke his hair. He holds her a little tighter.

“Let’s lie down,” she mumbles into his shoulder. She doesn’t want to stop holding him, but her legs suddenly feel like lead.

Her fingers are clumsy on her belts; his are on his brace as well. They somehow stumble out of the rest of their clothes and lie down naked and sweaty on top of the blankets, as twined together as they can manage.

“How’s your arm?” he asks when the last of the light of sunset has left the room.

“What arm?” she slurs, and he chuckles.

 

She does work on his knee, eventually, massaging the tension out of his thigh and calf muscles with the heel of her hand, helping him flex and stretch in the ways that Janey has said would make it hurt less, if he were ever consistent about it.

She does it all naked, with plenty of pauses for kissing and stroking. She stumbles out of bed, reluctantly, to piss and light the lamp and get the washing cloth to wipe them both clean. In the evening air the water is cool enough to make her shiver, and he tugs a blanket over both of them and pulls her down to lie against his chest again.

“Suppertime,” she muses.

“Mm.” When she glances up she can see he’s on the verge of falling asleep, a languid half-smile on his face. She’s exhausted herself, sated and calm, the jagged edges of earlier in the day smothered by a blanket of endorphins.

She could easily curl up under the blanket and not move until sunrise. But they’ll both be starving in the morning if they miss a meal.

“I’ll bring back two bowls.” She kisses the bridge of Max’s nose, and he runs a sleepy hand over her hair.

As she stumbles back into her clothes, not bothering with her arm, she registers, dimly, that the wind is whistling through her window again. Which means it’s shifted east, back to the steady pattern that brings fragile fog in the morning for the water-gathering devices to collect. 

Maybe she will actually sleep tonight.


End file.
